"This church is better. Trust me," I say turning onto the long road that leads to the older section of Pelican Bay. "This is the church I went to as a kid. It's where all my best church memories happened."
It's tiny, the same design as an old one-room schoolhouse but featuring a bell tower on top. It doesn't fit many people, and that's okay because not many people go to it. There isn't a nursery for the children and they don't do specialized classes. You go in, sit down, get a sermon, and go home. It's exactly my kind of church.
My promise to God I'd attend church more may have taken place in a small airplane over the ocean while I thought I'd die, but that doesn't mean I plan to default on the agreement.
Two weeks ago, the sermon was about old friends and being there for them even when
